


Tap Three Times

by beggingwolf



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2017-2018 NHL Season, Exhibitionism, Fluff and Smut, International Fanworks Day 2021, M/M, Newlyweds Still Figuring Each Other Out, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:28:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29456019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beggingwolf/pseuds/beggingwolf
Summary: “I can’t give you that, G,” Sid whispers, and he can feel Geno try to pull back, but he holds him tight.“Not that,” he says, “but we can pretend.”After a misstep on a roadie, Geno and Sid try to figure each other out.
Relationships: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin
Comments: 12
Kudos: 87





	Tap Three Times

**Author's Note:**

> For the record, I'd like to make it clear that I posted this at 11:59 PM on Valentine's Day. The fact that ao3 decided to round it up to 12 AM midnight on February 15th (thus meaning I had to manually change the post date, which feels like cheating) is cruel. Anyways, here's some Valentine's Day/International Fanworks Day erotica, as promised!
> 
> **Content Warning:** a character initiates a sexual act while the other character is asleep.

Sid’s on his third pass of the opening paragraph when Geno sits down next to him.

Sid waits a full second before putting down the book—a thick tome that his mother had given him for last year’s Christmas, and that he’s desperate to finish before this Christmas is upon them.

“Hi,” Geno says with a self-satisfied smile. His hat is tugged on over his messy hair and he’s still got his sunglasses on. He looks disheveled and happy, and Sid thinks it’s stupid that his heart beats a bit faster at the sight. 

“Hi?” Sid says.

The guys have left him his own row now that Flower’s gone. Sid’s adjusting. It’s weird to not kick Flower’s twitching legs out of the way while he sleeps, and weirder yet to not have Flower leaning into his space until Sid splits his plane candy with him.

Geno seems to be on a mission to fill the void, though, because he presses close to Sid, jamming his messenger bag inelegantly beneath the seat.

“Geno?” Sid asks quietly.

“I’m think I sit with you today,” Geno tells him with a grin, and Sid watches his own reflection in the dark lenses of Geno’s sunglasses. He can see that his beard looks rough, but he’s riding on a seven-game goal streak and hasn’t touched a razor for a while. 

“...are the guys not playing cards?” Sid asks, and he twists to peer at the back of the plane, where Tanger and Phil are already roping Sheahan into a game. 

“He’s gonna get fleeced,” Sid mutters, squinting and hoping Tanger will look over, but Tanger just waves his deck of cards like it’ll entice Sheahan to start putting money on the table.

“Not play today, tired,” Geno says, starting to shove off his coat. His long arms flail as he wiggles out of the fabric, and Sid leans toward the window to avoid what he knows are very sharp elbows.

“You don’t look tired,” Sid says, and Geno shrugs, throwing his coat down by his feet and kicking it up against his bag. Geno just makes a deep sound in his throat that Sid knows means the conversation has petered out, so he turns back to his book. 

Operation Neptune doesn’t manage to capture his attention, even though he gives the first paragraph two more readings before he calls it quits. He sighs in disgust, letting the book fall to his lap so he can rub over his face, careful to avoid the scrape on his cheek from Dubinsky’s high stick on Tuesday. 

When he drops his hands and grabs the book, intending on putting it back into his bag, he sees that Geno’s taken off his glasses, and he’s watching Sid with an amused tilt to his lips. 

“I’m tell you,” Geno says, and he falls fully into the sly smile he was trying to repress. “Not gonna finish before Christmas.”

“I’ve read books about World War II before,” Sid says defensively. “She’s not gonna know if I haven’t read it.”

“You’re know. Be most guilty, gonna buy mama _big_ present,” Geno almost croons, and Sid’s only stopped from dropping the book on Geno’s foot by the knowledge that Geno can and will find a way to get even.

He puts the book back into his bag, fishing around for his phone until he finds it tucked up against his toque. Once he’s untangled his headphones, he finds the most recent podcast downloaded onto his app and settles in. He leans back, closes his eyes, and tries to ignore the big ball of heat in the next seat over.

The podcast host is barely through the guest introductions when Sid feels long, warm fingers skirting along the meat of his palm and a thumb brushing along his own. He opens his eyes just in time to see Geno fully entwine their fingers together.

Sid frowns, and he gives Geno’s hand a gentle squeeze, looking up at him. Geno just smiles back, rubbing his thumb along Sid’s in a gentle gesture. 

Another adjustment, Sid reminds himself. It’s been three years since they came out to the team. Fifteen months since Geno got down on one knee on Sid’s dock and proposed, the Stanley Cup sitting in Sid’s boat a few feet away. Nearly three months since they got married. 

Even so, he’s not used to tender touches here, where Horny and Hags are bickering in Swedish a few rows ahead, where Guentzy is setting up some mobile console that he and the younger guys bring on these long roadies. He’d made that clear to Geno back when they’d first started this, back when it was a secret tucked away in Geno’s big house or Sid’s horrible apartment: the team was the team, and Sid and Geno would be _this_ outside of the team. 

Sid’s ring, tucked in Geno’s grip, is warm around his finger. Sid grounds himself with the familiar touch of Geno’s palm against his, the way Geno’s long fingers curl around Sid’s knuckles and brush the back of his hand like it’s delicate, like the skin could break if he pressed too hard. 

Sid uses his fingertip to tap three times on Geno’s knuckle, a holdover from when they would be nervously pressed up against each other in a loud bar with the boys. Three taps on a knee, on a thigh, on the shoulder. An _I love you_ whispered through touch, passable as brotherly. 

Geno squeezes his hand again, and Sid lets his eyes fall shut. 

They’re leaving late to Winnipeg; a thunderstorm had rolled off the Great Lakes and crashed over Pittsburgh. It had been pouring on the drive to the airport, and the team had hunkered down in a lounge to wait out the worst of it until the chartered plane agreed to board them. By the time they’ll land in Canada, it’ll be too late to do much else besides bed down for the night in the hotel. 

Sid’s weirdly grateful for Geno’s hand when they take off; over a decade of weekly flights hasn’t fully erased the tension in his muscles as the plane builds up speed and finally leaves the ground, and Geno weathers it as Sid probably grinds his bones. 

Though Sid is skeptical of Geno’s exhaustion, his own catches up with him. He slept poorly last night and had gotten up twice past midnight, the stormy weather making his head ache in the way it sometimes does. He tries to pay attention to the interview—the podcast has a professional surfer on, and Sid’s never even touched a surfboard—but one moment he’s trying to follow along, and the next he’s out.

He usually sleeps like a log when the team travels, a skill honed over years of late-night bus rides out of Quebec. This time, though, a deep red heat grows out of his dreams. Sid feels warm—deliciously warm, like he’s swaddled in something, like Geno’s taken him back down to Miami and has kept Sid hostage at a resort until he’s relaxed. The images of it flicker through his sleep: the cerulean waves meeting the white sand, the brightly colored drinks Geno orders, Geno in his swim trunks with rivulets of water slipping down his long torso.

Sid’s breath catches, and he wakes.

The thin airplane blanket is draped over him, all the way up to his chin. That’s the second thing he feels. 

The first is a hand wrapped around his dick. 

“Geno?” Sid asks, voice raspy from the dry cabin air. 

“Shh,” Geno whispers. Sid feels it against his neck more than he hears it, and he realizes Geno’s shoved up the armrest between their seats to cuddle up close to him, using two blankets to wrap around them both and obscure where he’s picked open Sid’s belt and pants. 

“Geno, what the _fuck_ are you doing?” Sid says, ripping his headphones off of his head and shifting away. 

He’s almost been coaxed to full hardness in Geno’s clever hands, and he can feel the wetness on Geno’s palm, like Geno licked over his hand before slipping it between Sid’s legs and—

“Shh, Sid,” Geno hums again, and he nips at Sid’s neck.

“No! What the fuck?” Sid says, and it’s _loud_ in the late-night quiet, even with the roar of the flight filling the cabin. He can see Olli shift a row ahead, starting to turn. 

“Sid!” Geno hisses. 

“No, Geno, what the fuck is the matter with you?” Sid growls. He shoves his hands beneath the blanket and knocks Geno’s away, tucking himself back beneath the waistband of his boxers and then redoing his fly. 

He kicks the blanket down, yanking apart the seat belt, and Geno leans away. 

“Hey, Sid, wait—”

Sid buckles his belt and grabs his phone. He tries to reach for his headphones but his hands are shaking too badly to figure out how to untangle them from the seat belt, so he leaves them, shoving his way past Geno’s sharp knees and long legs. 

Geno reaches for him and nearly hooks two of those long, spit-slicked fingers in Sid’s belt loop, but Sid jerks his hips out of the way and spins into the aisle. 

When he looks up, half the plane is warily watching.

Sid loosens his fists. He takes a deep breath and pulls his shoulders back, walking toward the front of the plane. He sees Schultzy’s eyes dart behind him, and Sid swears to God, if Geno storms up the aisle after him, his marriage is going to be on thin ice. When he makes it to nearly the front row unbothered, he sits down heavily next to Guentzy, who’s still dicking around on his mobile console.

“Uh,” Guentzy says, staring at Sid. 

“Needed a new seat,” Sid says, and his voice is so low and unhappy that he has to take another deep breath.

Jake’s eyes flit up and down Sid’s frame, and then carefully, very carefully, he glances over the back of his seat.

Sid doesn’t look. 

Jake’s gaze lingers for a moment or two, but it eventually slides back to Sid, and Jake warily shrugs.

“Do you, um, want to play?”

“No,” Sid says, because he’s already angry and trying desperately not to be. He’d get his ass handed to him by the Wilkes-Barre guys if he joined in, and he’s not willing to push his temper any further.

“Okay,” Jake says, his voice cracking halfway through the word. He clears his throat and turns back to his screen, very intentionally keeping his attention on the little digital figures. 

Sid watches too, just to distract himself. With his headphones tangled in the detritus of his seat and his phone on airplane mode, he has nothing to settle the bone-deep fury in his limbs. What the fuck was Geno thinking, touching him like that on a plane full of their team? With Olli in the seat ahead of them, one twist away from seeing something no one else should. With Tanger a few seats back, fully able to see how Geno was pressed between their seats.

Sid takes another controlled breath, watching which buttons Jake jams on his controller to move his avatar. 

By the time the plane lands, Sid’s figured out the game mechanics and thinks he could beat Rusty, if not Jake, at the first few rounds. His hands have stopped shaking, and he carries his anger in his chest instead of his limbs, a small, bound thing that he’ll be able to spin out into words when he next gets Geno alone.

He has the words he’s rehearsed for the last twenty minutes ready to go— _hey, man, mind if I crash on the spare bed in your room tonight?_ —but when he turns to look for Olli, his eyes find Geno’s tall form instead. He’s still folded in his seat, and his sunglasses are back on even though it’s dark outside. Despite the glasses, Sid can tell Geno’s looking straight at him, and a nervous flutter shakes loose the ball of anger Sid’s desperately trying to keep hold of.

The plane starts clearing out, and Jake and Rusty jam the little machines back into their bags and shuffle past Sid. 

Sid stays and hates the growing, gnawing worry that’s chewing through his stomach and up to his lungs. When Geno finally stands, hunched like he so often is in airplanes, always afraid he’s going to hit his stupid head on something, he reaches up into the overhead compartments and grabs Sid’s coat. Sid chews on the inside of his lower lip as Geno gathers his things—he watches Geno carefully roll up the cable of Sid’s expensive headphones, watches him shoulder Sid’s bag along with his own. 

Geno walks down the aisle, and he doesn’t look at Sid as he passes by, but he reaches out and drapes Sid’s coat over the back of the seat before moving to the exit. 

Sid sighs, because he knows how Geno gets about the cold, knows he hates it when Sid gets cold (or when he _thinks_ Sid should be cold, even when Sid’s fine, because a Canadian childhood taught him how to weather snow). 

He picks up his coat and slips it on, and Olli pauses before he walks past. They’re the last ones on the plane aside from Phil, who always drags his feet. 

“Is everything okay?” Olli asks in his low voice, and Sid grimaces. 

Even though Olli is almost young enough to be Taylor’s age, he’s always had an old look in his eyes that felt familiar to Sid. The last four years have cemented him as one of Sid’s closest friends, and Sid knows better than to try to lie.

“It’ll be fine,” he settles for, because it will be. He’ll figure out what Geno’s deal was, and it won’t happen again, and they’ll be fine.

Olli returns Sid's grimace but he nods, gesturing for Sid to go out ahead of him. Sid moves off of the plane, and though he settles down next to Olli on the bus to the hotel, he doesn’t ask about the spare bed.

Instead, he and Geno grab their luggage in silence from the belly of the bus. Sid snags their keycards from the attendant, and they pack into an elevator with several other guys. 

It’s only when Sid’s flipped the deadbolt on their hotel room’s door that he turns and opens his mouth. 

“Geno, what happened back there?”

Geno’s thrown their carry-ons and his sunglasses onto the sofa chair in the corner, so Sid can see Geno’s eyes narrow. Geno dumps his luggage on the floor, like he always does, and pops it open to start unpacking it, which he never does.

“Geno.”

Geno pulls out his suit, draping it over the sofa chair, and then reaches for his going-out-for-team-dinner shirts, like he’s going to put them in the dresser. 

“Geno, cut it out.”

Geno throws his socks—which are balled up, meaning Sid laundered them, because Geno refuses to fold them up in pairs, which is why his his sock drawer is out of control—onto the bed, and Sid finally breaks. He walks over to Geno and gets down on a knee to meet him on his level. Geno hesitates, so Sid reaches out and grabs onto Geno’s arm. 

It’s not a rough hold. It’s just firm. He can feel Geno’s long muscles and the fuzzy softness of the hair on his skin, and it makes Sid’s stomach flip. 

“Geno, babe, we’ve gotta talk. Why did you do that?”

“I’m not think you react so bad,” Geno says, and Sid’s grip tightens when he hears the hurt in Geno’s voice. He softens his hold but he can see by the way Geno shifts closer that he noticed it.

“What were you expecting?” Sid asks, looking at Geno’s profile. He takes in the gentle slope of his forehead into his brow, the proud, beautiful angle of his nose, the way his lips always hang a little open. “Geno, we were on the _plane.”_

“Yes,” Geno says simply, and he tries to grab his jeans from his suitcase but Sid tugs his arm, pulling him until they’re facing each other. 

“Please look at me,” Sid murmurs, and Geno finally does.

His deep brown eyes look into Sid’s, and Sid’s spent so many hours trying to read Geno’s mind. Ever since he showed up on Mario’s doorstep, twiggy and in an ill-fitting suit, Sid’s been trying to figure him out. While miming hockey plays, struggling through stilted conversations in broken English, crushing each other in soul-rending hugs on the ice, nervously pressing their bodies closer in Sid’s apartment, all Sid’s wanted is to know what was going on behind those eyes. 

Geno’s one of the most extraordinary people Sid’s ever met. Sid wants to know everything about him, wants to figure out what makes him tick.

As he looks into Geno’s eyes, he hopelessly feels like he still has so much to learn.

“Why’d you do that, G?”

Geno’s droopy eyes fall down to look at where Sid’s holding onto him. 

“I been think about it,” Geno mumbles slowly, and Sid desperately wishes he knew Russian, seeing how Geno’s carefully picking out each word. “Maybe, like, I’m think it’s hot. Want to do with you.”

“Geno, we were on the _plane,_ we can’t just—”

“That’s why,” Geno says, his voice hardening. He meets Sid’s eyes again, and Sid sees that resolve crystallizing inside him. “I’m like it because it’s with other guys, like, maybe they know.”

“That’s—” Sid laughs, but there’s no humor in it. Shock, mostly. Nerves. He _wanted_ it? “Geno, they shouldn’t, we can’t just…”

“If you quiet, they not gonna know. Easy, Sid, just like we’re gonna cuddle. Plane was, like, so loud, they never gonna—”

“But they could have, and we can’t do that, Geno, it’s private. I thought we agreed… you told me that we’d keep it private. What you and I do.”

Sid doesn’t know which word causes it, but Geno’s resolve goes sharp. His mouth always does something unique when he gets angry, and Sid sees the shift right in front of him. 

“Private?” Geno says. “We _marry.”_

“That doesn’t mean we’re going to fuck in front of the team!”

“Wasn’t going to fuck!” Geno exclaims. “Cука, Sid, was just gonna do handjob.”

“You can’t give me a handjob on the plane with the team! Geno, fuck, that’s so inappropriate.”

Geno tries to tug his arm away, but Sid holds on, and he reaches out with his other hand to grip around Geno’s comparatively thin wrist. 

“Stop trying to walk away!”

“Stop make me feel bad!”

Sid freezes.

Geno rolls back to sit on his ass, and Sid bites his tongue, realizing he’s kept Geno crouching for too long and Geno’s bad knee must be aching. Sid doesn’t let go, though, just leans into Geno’s space, dropping his other knee to the floor like the first.

Kneeling in front of Geno, Sid lets go of his arms and gently reaches for his face. He loves the feeling of holding Geno’s jaw, of the rough stubble trying to poke through Geno’s skin. 

“I’m sorry I made you feel bad,” Sid apologizes, because his mother had told him that a sincere apology would stop him from getting kicked out of his marriage bed, and Sid doesn't ever want to fall asleep without Geno sprawled next to him. 

“You scared the shit out of me, Geno,” Sid says softly. “I love you, but I wasn’t prepared for that.”

“I’m know you’re, like, private,” Geno says, and he’s looking down at where his own hands are digging into his dress pants. He’d dressed so smartly for the flight today that Sid had complimented him on the way out the door, and Geno’s smile as they got into the car had made Sid’s heart throb painfully. 

“Maybe, I’m like, not fair,” Geno continues. “Thinking about it a lot, and I’m see you’re asleep, and you’re look comfy and happy and I’m think, maybe now. I’m know I can make it good, so I’m think, okay, do it now, gonna be good.”

“G,” Sid whispers, and his fingers stroke over Geno’s cheeks. “If we had talked about it…”

“You’re say no,” Geno says, and Sid sighs.

“Yeah,” he admits. “I would’ve said no, G.”

“Sorry, Sid,” Geno mumbles, and Sid tilts his head up to get a look at him. 

“Is… is the privacy thing an issue for you?” Sid asks carefully. “I don’t know if I can ever do… public sex, G, that’s so ba—so dangerous for us, you get that, right?”

Geno shrugs a little uncomfortably.

“I’m know,” he admits, “is like, maybe little bit why I’m like.”

Sid can feel his expression go soft. 

“I want to give you what you want, babe, I promise. Just… we can’t do that.”

“Yeah,” Geno says quietly.

Sid leans in finally, and he brushes his nose over Geno’s cheek before gently kissing him. He can’t stop himself from pulling Geno’s lower lip between his own, sucking on it tenderly, relishing in the feeling of Geno underneath him and sinking into the comfort of it, the surety that he and Geno will be okay.

“I can’t give you that, G,” Sid whispers, and he can feel Geno try to pull back, but he holds him tight. 

“Not that,” he says, “but we can pretend.”

“Like, fantasy?” Geno mumbles.

“Right here,” Sid says, and he drags his lips up Geno’s cheekbone, over his ear and nipping at the pink shell of it before pressing his nose into Geno’s hair. His lips ghost over Geno’s ear as he speaks. “What is it you like about it? Is it getting caught?”

“...Sid,” Geno says, and Sid bites at his earlobe.

“Tell me,” Sid urges, and Geno’s hands tentatively settle on Sid’s sides as Sid kneels between his outstretched legs. 

“It’s hard,” Geno says, and Sid knows that means Geno’s just tired and doesn’t want to do the difficult work of getting his thoughts out in English. 

“Try, babe,” Sid coaxes, and he uses his hands on Geno’s face to tilt his head back, mouthing at his ear, the hollow beneath it, the strong cords of muscle leading down Geno’s neck. “You can do it.”

He can feel the rattle of breath ghost through Geno’s throat. 

“Is like, everyone see you, all the time,” Geno says finally. “See us. Cameras, reporter, guys on team. Fans. And we’re, like, not… not gonna show. Is secret, all the time. And we tell family, tell team, but is secret. And then we get married, but it’s like, we still act like secret, except everyone know.”

“I wear your ring on my finger, G,” Sid mouths at Geno’s skin.

Geno’s own fingers tighten on Sid’s hips, and he pulls Sid closer.

“Still want more,” Geno argues. “Still think, maybe they see that we’re…”

He trails off as Sid licks into the dip where his clavicles meet. 

“Geno,” Sid hums, and one of Geno’s hands digs into his hair.

“See you’re mine,” Geno says on a shaking breath. “See I’m yours, Sid.”

Sid lets Geno pull him away from his throat, and he can feel his cock throb in his pants as he sees Geno’s pink cheeks and heavy-lidded eyes. 

“You like that?” Sid asks, and it comes out so low, grating out of his throat like a growl, and Geno takes in a little gasp. “You like it, that other people would see we belong to each other? If I fucked you in front of them, they’d know you’re mine?”

“Sid,” Geno whispers, and Sid kisses him.

Geno moans, crushing Sid to him with an arm around his back, his other hand tangled in Sid’s hair and trying to twist his head so Sid can press his tongue deeper into Geno’s mouth. Sid licks inside, tasting Geno and moaning into it, and Geno hauls Sid into his lap.

“Bed,” Sid pants against his lips. “Let’s get on the bed, G.”

It’s a clumsy transition, neither of them willing to let go of the other, but eventually Sid hauls Geno down, and it’s easy to straddle him, holding him down to the mattress.

“You pack lube?” Sid grunts, wrestling his shirt off, and Geno grins as his hands palm up the exposed skin of Sid’s chest. 

“Yes,” he hums, so pleased with himself, and Sid leans down to kiss him stupid. 

They shuck off their clothes clumsily, Sid yanking Geno’s pants off inelegantly and Geno fumbling with Sid’s belt for so long that Sid has no idea how he got it undone beneath a blanket on the plane. 

When they’re naked, though, Sid rolls Geno onto his back again and leans over him, his hands sliding up Geno’s long arms until he’s wrapping his hands around Geno’s wrists, pinning them to the bed above his head.

Geno smiles at him so sweetly that it almost stops Sid from pressing his lips to Geno’s ear again.

Almost.

“What is it that you think about?” Sid whispers. He grinds his hips down, his cock rubbing against Geno’s; they’re both leaking at the tip, and Sid has to catch his breath before he continues. 

“Is it on the plane?” he asks. “At a bar?”

“Sometimes,” Geno murmurs. “And, other time, is, like… rink.”

“Locker room?” Sid hums, grinding his hips against Geno’s again and grinning against Geno’s skin when Geno hisses.

“Sometimes,” Geno says again, and Sid bites at him gently. 

“Tell me, Geno, c’mon.”

“...on ice,” Geno finally confesses. “On the bench, is like… when I’m score, maybe you’re get down, suck me off.”

“You’d like that?” Sid asks, and he lets go of Geno’s wrists, drawing his hands down Geno’s chest, to his hips, to his cock. He jacks Geno once, just to make him buck his hips, and Sid smiles down at him.

Then he reaches down into Geno’s luggage beside the bed for the lube. He pops the cap, dribbling a hefty amount right onto Geno’s cock, knowing Geno likes it messy. Sid coats his hand and slips it between Geno’s legs, gently caressing Geno’s balls for a few moments before searching below. 

“You think about that?” Sid asks him as he brushes a fingertip over Geno’s asshole. Geno’s ribcage shudders with his breath, and Sid loves watching him move, loves everything about him. “About me sucking your cock on the bench? Where the guys could see? The cameras? The crowd?”

“Yeah,” Geno groans, rocking his hips into it as Sid presses a finger inside. 

Geno’s always so eager, so easy for Sid. It feels like his body opens up for Sid’s fingers, and it’s nothing to slip a second finger inside of him. Sid lets out a harsh breath, pumping his fingers inside of Geno just how Geno likes: a little fast, a little careless. 

“What about fucking me?” Sid asks him. “You think about that? On the ice? You gonna bend me over the boards?”

“Yes,” Geno pants. “Or… you’re fuck me. I’m get in trouble, maybe. Go to penalty box, and you’re come over too, maybe, like, angry.”

Sid leans down to kiss Geno’s chest, mostly to smother his smile into Geno’s skin.

“Yeah?” he tries to rumble. “That get you off, G? I’m all angry at you, I’m gonna push into the penalty box and tug your pants down, and you’d be hard up for it?”

Geno moans a long curse in Russian as Sid presses three fingers inside, and Sid feels his restraint snap.

He pulls his fingers out of Geno, loving the plaintive sound Geno gives him in return, and he knocks Geno’s thighs wider, settling between them fully. 

“Would it be like this?” Sid asks him, and he nudges the head of his cock against where Geno is slicked up and open for him. 

“Sid,” Geno gasps.

“And I’d take you? Like this, where everyone can see?” Sid asks, and he bends over Geno and starts pressing inside.

Geno’s tight, he’s always tight. For as easily as Geno takes Sid’s fingers, Sid thinks he’s never going to get used to the warm clutch of Geno’s body around him, and he moans into Geno’s skin as he pushes in. Geno locks his ankles behind Sid’s back, and he tugs Sid closer until Sid’s buried to the hilt.

“Fuck,” Sid whispers against Geno’s throat, and he feels the smile that Geno hides in his hair.

“Go, мой золотой,” Geno murmurs, and Sid moves. 

“You feel so good,” Sid sighs as he starts to rock his hips. Geno moves with the rhythm like he always does, like they’re syncing up on the ice and moving as one. 

“Like this,” Geno gets out with a gust of breath. “They all see.”

“See me getting you just right?” Sid grunts, thrusting harder and startling a moan from between Geno’s lips. 

“See us perfect,” Geno says, and Sid is helpless but to lean down and kiss him.

Geno pushes his tongue into Sid’s mouth and Sid kisses him messily, feeling slicked with sweat, with the lube rubbing between their bellies, Geno’s leaking cock sliding along his abs, with the wetness slipping between their thighs as Sid fucks into him. 

“You are fucking perfect,” Sid murmurs around Geno’s mouth. 

“Us,” Geno gasps, and Sid feels it when Geno gets a hand around his cock. He tightens on Sid, and Sid gasps, driving Geno up closer to the headboard on his next thrust.

“You’re my A, babe,” Sid groans as he grinds in, the slick sounds of his skin slapping against Geno's getting him closer. “They’d all see.”

“Captain,” Geno gasps, bucking up into his hand. 

“That’s right,” Sid croons. “Your captain, fucking you just like you need, I’m gonna get you what need, Geno.”

“Sid,” Geno begs, and Sid pushes himself up to see Geno come.

Geno throws his head back, and Sid watches Geno’s necklace rock with his thrusts, watches as Geno’s cum splatters over his belly. 

He drops to his elbows as soon as Geno’s hand falls away and Geno goes deliciously boneless beneath him. Like this he’s low, Geno’s still-hard cock pressed between their bodies, Geno’s cum greasing the slide of their skin along with their sweat.

He ruts into Geno desperately, the wild force of his hips jolting Geno and making him moan as Sid’s weight pins him in place, his arms wrapped around Sid’s shoulders just like his legs around Sid’s hips. 

“Золотце,” Geno sighs, and Sid buries himself as deep as he can and comes.

He rests his forehead on Geno’s chest, letting his slowing breaths sync with Geno’s as Geno’s clever fingers trace nonsensical patterns on his back. Sid presses slow, open-mouthed kisses to Geno’s chest, leaning up and up until he slips out of Geno and Geno makes a displeased sound.

Sid’s smiling too much to kiss him properly when he gets to Geno’s mouth, but it doesn’t stop Geno from stretching up and pressing his lips to Sid’s smiling teeth. 

“That good for you?” Sid asks, and Geno lets out a laughing breath.

“No, worst, Sid,” Geno says dryly, raking his fingers through Sid’s hair. 

“Mhmm,” Sid hums, kissing the corner of Geno’s mouth when he can manage it.

“Sorry, Sid,” Geno says quietly, his hand gripping Sid’s jaw. He’s careful with his fingers, avoiding the swollen cut on Sid’s cheek. Sid lets Geno hold him in place, meeting Geno’s sated gaze. “Should have asked.”

“And I should’ve been less of a dick,” Sid tells him. He tries to lean in for another kiss but Geno’s hand on his face holds him away, and Sid frowns.

“G,” he grumbles. 

“Always gonna be little bit of a dick, Sid,” Geno says with a teasing grin, and Sid growls and pushes forward, bending Geno’s wrist back enough that he can kiss him roughly.

“Not to you,” Sid promises.

Geno presses three kisses to Sid’s lips.

**Author's Note:**

> ...and then the game after this, Sid pulls Geno in for a kiss over the boards right after the National Anthem and Geno goes all pink and warm about it, because these two are hopelessly soft about each other. 🎉
> 
> Cука → _Suka_ → Fuck  
> мой золотой → _moy zolotoy_ → literally "my golden," an endearment  
> Золотце → _zolotse_ → literally "little gold," an endearment
> 
> Endearments were sourced from [here](https://ili-here.tumblr.com/post/161660147171/russian-names-pet-names).
> 
> Well, here's how I spent my Valentine's Day: watching the Pens beat the Caps 6-3, getting groceries before a Pittsburgh snowstorm, and then writing fluffy hockey RPF smut to my heart's content. Not a bad way to spend it, in all honesty. I love these two hockey-playing fools. I also had great fun clicking through my Tumblr archive to stare at Geno gifs so I could, uh, "research" to write how Sid really appreciates his face. 
> 
> This was written, edited and posted within a single day, so any rough edges are due to that.
> 
> Come say [hi on Tumblr](https://beggingwolf.tumblr.com) if you'd like!


End file.
